


To the End of the Fjord

by Ascafen, NachoDiablo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, First Time, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Implied Bottom Bucky, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Protective Steve Rogers, Reunions, Steve Nat and Sam are the BROT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ascafen/pseuds/Ascafen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: The last time Steve saw Bucky, they were two boys sharing a shy first kiss. Fifteen years later, they meet again as warriors. They've both changed, but Steve knows they still belong together, despite Bucky's reluctance. Steve is determined not to lose Bucky again, but Bucky has his own secrets holding him back.





	To the End of the Fjord

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first MCU fic, and I was lucky enough to get my first choice of art for the Cap Reverse Big Bang! Thank you so very much to Ascafen for the beautiful art, and to the mods who did such an amazing job keeping everything running smoothly!
> 
> Shout out to my betas, Allyvia and Vaysh for their help!

The Great Hall is quiet, save for the cracking of the fire in the center of the room. The villagers have long since left, their concerns and complaints having been dealt with for the day.

Steve sighs, leaning back in his throne as he tries to get comfortable. He has only been the Earl for a few months, and he’s still not quite used to having so many people looking to him for answers. Today had been particularly trying, with a skirmish over an allegedly stolen goat nearly escalating into a full-fledged battle.

He sends a silent prayer to the gods once again for gracing him with Sam and Natasha, who have been by his side as loyal friends, determined fighters, and now trusted advisors as he rose in rank from stubborn warrior to reluctant leader. They sit on either side of him now, on smaller thrones of their own. Steve is about to bid them good night when he notices that Natasha’s fingers are still curled around her armrest, a sign that she has something to discuss.

Steve looks over at her. “What news do you have to share?”

Natasha raises one eyebrow. “Why would you assume that I have any news?”

“You always have news,” Sam says with a smirk. “You may not always share it, but you always have it.”

A smile ghosts over Natasha’s face as she tilts her head. “I do have something to discuss. There’s been word from West Francia.”

Steve waits patiently as she leans back in her chair, pulling out one of her knives and studying the blade intently. He knows there’s no point in rushing her. Natasha is secretive, but she’s one of his most trusted advisors for a reason.

She slides the knife back into its sheath. “One of the clans is sending envoys. They have business to attend to in the North. Extended business. They’re hoping to set up a base camp nearby, in the disputed territory. It is expected that they’ll arrive within a fortnight.”

Steve frowns. “Which clan? The Franks are no friends of ours. Not these days.”

“Maybe not,” Natasha says, her unblinking gaze focused on Steve. “But they were, once. Or so they claim. The Soissons clan. Are you familiar?”

Steve’s eyes widen. He has not heard that name in years, not since he was a boy. “I… I am. They were here once before. It must be…nearly fifteen years past, by now…”

He trails off, remembering dark hair and a quick smile, teasing laughter and whispered secrets. He blinks, realizing that Sam and Natasha are staring at him, a curious expression on Sam’s face and a blank one on Natasha’s.

He clears his throat hastily. “Er…yes. As I said, I _am_ familiar with them. They passed through Kattegat on a trading expedition when I was a boy. I don’t think either of you were here yet. They only stayed for a few weeks.”

“What do you remember of them?” Sam asks. “Should we be concerned?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. From what I remember they were very… agreeable.” He hopes that the blush rising on his cheeks isn’t noticeable, but Natasha’s smirk tells him that it most definitely is.

“I don’t think we should be so certain of that this time around.” Sam leans forward, resting one arm on his thigh. “I’ve heard things. Ten years ago, there was some some sort of dispute between Counts. A great deal of bloodshed, if the rumours are true. Their current leader, Count Alexander, is not known for being particularly benevolent.”

“Bloodshed?” Steve’s stomach twists unpleasantly. “What sort of bloodshed?”

“The painful sort, I assume,” Natasha says dryly. “The same sort we have here.”

“No, I meant…” Steve presses his lips together, turning towards Natasha. “Perhaps we should meet these envoys before they arrive at the village. What do we know of them?”

“There are two, travelling together on foot as far as Arhus, then to Kattegat by boat. Two men, about your age. Peaceful in their travels, by all accounts. So far, at least.”

“Do you know their surnames?” Sam asks. “Perhaps Steve would remember them.”

“How would I know their surnames? I’m not omniscient,” Natasha replies, deadpan, causing Sam to laugh.

“You know that’s a lie,” he says cheerfully.

Natasha doesn’t bother denying it. “Rumlow is the leader. The one who talks, makes the arrangements. His companion doesn’t say much. Rumlow calls him Barnes, but I’m not sure if that’s his surname, or-- ”

“It is.” Steve struggles to keep his face unreadable. “There was a Barnes travelling with them on their last visit. James Barnes. A couple of years older than me. He was…if it’s the same man, we have nothing to fear.”

“There is always something to fear,” Natasha points out. “Perhaps you were right. We should meet them on the mainland, determine their intentions before they arrive here.”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. If it’s… Barnes, then we will welcome them as honored guests when they arrive on our shores.”

Sam and Natasha exchanging skeptical glances. Steve grins playfully. “Honestly, it’s two men. Two Franks, at that. Are you admitting that two Westerners would be a challenge to control?”

Natasha scowls. “Two dozen Westerners would not be a challenge to control,” she says cooly. “If you believe we can wait, then we’ll wait. It makes no difference to me.”

Sam looks over as Steve, biting back a smile. They both know that Natasha will be tracking the envoys’ journey closely regardless of what anyone says. Sam taps his fingers on his armrest as he eyes Steve carefully.

“You’re a good judge of character, Steve, and a prudent leader. I’m proud to call you my Earl. Just remember… a great deal can change in fifteen years. This Barnes is a man now, not a boy. He might be different.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I am not the same boy he remembers either, at first glance. But the core of a person doesn’t change.”

“You know that’s not true,” Natasha says softly.

“Not always,” Steve agrees, folding his arms across his chest, “but I can assure you, it is in this case.” He stands up, slinging his shield across his back.

Natasha and Sam both stand as well. Wordlessly, they exit the Great Hall and go their separate ways. Steve heads to his own dwelling, smiling at the children who run past him, nodding at the villagers who call out their greetings as he passes.

Once Steve crosses the threshold, he closes the door behind him. He sighs contently as he takes in the small, one-roomed dwelling that he calls home. As the Earl, he has access to finer accommodations, but he prefers the comfort and privacy of this space. He doesn't bother stoking the fire as he washes up quickly and slides under his bed covers in the hopes of getting some rest.

He's unable to sleep, however, as old memories swirl around in his mind, some that have been buried away over time, some that have always been there, at the edges of his consciousness.

Steve had been twelve when the Soissons clan had last come to Kattegat. They had been on a trade mission of some sort, though Steve can't recall the details. There had been a group of about eight grown men and women doing the actual bartering, and a few older children along for the journey.

Including James. Or Bucky, rather. Steve had been allowed to call him Bucky, back then. He wonders what Bucky will prefer to be called once they meet again.

Steve smiles as he remembers the first time Bucky had spoken to him. Steve had been bleeding from his lip after a punch from one of the other village boys, one of the rougher ones who thought it was funny to throw rocks at a bird's nest. Bucky had shoved the other boy into the river, though he had hollered at Steve for picking a fight with “some ugly troll twice his size.”

Bucky had been fourteen then, which had seemed so much older and wiser to Steve at the time. Steve had felt like someone special as the one that Bucky sought out to go exploring in the woods, or have swimming races across the river, or sneak sweets from the kitchens in the Great Hall.

The Soissons clan had only stayed in Kattegat for six weeks, but by the end of the first week, Steve and Bucky had been thick as thieves. Steve remembers the feel of Bucky's arm around his own thinner shoulders as they walked through the village, the sound of his laughter ringing over the fjords as they hollered out curses to hear them echo, the sight of his dark hair whipping around his face as he jumped from the highest tree branch into the river on a dare, the feel of his lips pressing against Steve's as they sat by the fire the night before Bucky left...

Steve raises a hand to his mouth. He remembers how nervous Bucky had been, how he had bitten down on his lower lip right before he'd swooped in and pressed his lips against Steve’s quickly for a moment before hastily eyeing the fire once more. His expression had seemed neutral, but Steve had noticed that Bucky's fingers were gripping the log they were sitting on tightly. Steve hadn't said a word, but instead had let his hand rest on top of Bucky's, lacing their fingers together and giving Bucky's hand a light squeeze.  
  
They hadn't spoken of it, and they hadn't done it again. It had been Steve's first kiss, and to date, the kiss he thinks of most often, innocent as it was. Steve blushes, thinking about what Bucky must look like now, older and stronger, strong enough to be trusted on a long journey as an envoy. He knows that men aren't supposed to want other men in that way, but he also knows that what people express in public and what they do privately behind closed doors are often two very different things.  
  
He wonders what sorts of things Bucky would want to do with him now, should they find themselves alone once again.  
  
Steve runs a hand across his chest, bare under the bedcovers. He feels the hard muscles honed from his years as a fighter. He had been much smaller when Bucky was here last, not quite a man yet. He'd been short, all skin and bones, especially compared to the other boys his age, but Bucky had said that Steve's mouth had been big enough for a giant. He hadn't been wrong.  
  
Steve wonders what Bucky will think of him now, fully grown, a warrior and an Earl. He wonders if Bucky will like what he sees, if he'll be able to look past all the trappings of royalty and responsibility and see the defiant boy he once was, and still is, in a way. He wonders if Bucky is still willing to accept any dare.  
  
Steve smiles to himself as he drifts off to sleep. He may not know for certain what Bucky will want with him, but he is looking forward to finding out.

 

~  ~ ~  ~ ~ ~  ~

 

“You should stare a bit harder at the horizon. It will make the boat arrive faster.”

Steve turns to glare at Natasha, who's grinning gleefully. His scowl causes her smile to widen infuriatingly. A smiling Natasha always means trouble.

Sam pretends not to notice as he shades his eyes and stares out across the water. "I don't understand why we are waiting here for them to arrive. Doesn't that seem a bit...eager? I would think an Earl should make people wait for him, not the other way around."

"When have you ever known Earl Rogers to act the way he should?" Natasha asks cheerfully. "He's always done exactly as he pleases. And if it goes against convention, so much the better."

Steve's scowl deepens as he turns to look back at the water. He wonders how much Natasha has guessed. If she's suspicious enough to drop such obvious (for her, at least) hints, then when she sees Steve and Bucky together, what little doubt that might remain will instantly vanish.

By the time a pinprick of shadow appears on the horizon nearly forty minutes later, Steve is struggling hard to maintain his composure. He straightens as the boat approaches the shore, grateful as the wind picks up that his hair is bound back and the furs slung over his shoulders are thick.

Steve watches as the boat docks and two figures disembark, wrapped in heavy cloaks as the make their way towards the shore. He resists the urge to step forward and meet them, aware that the entire village is watching his every move. Instead he stands stoically as the two Franks approach.

The man striding towards them in front is clearly the leader, with the second man following behind him slowly, his appearance obscured under a hooded cloak. Steve is dismayed when the leading man gets closer, noticing as soon as his face is in view that this is not Bucky.

The stranger smiles, holding up his hand in greeting, though he tucks it quickly back under his cloak rather than offering it to shake. It seems disingenuous to Steve, but he says nothing, and raises his own hand in return.

"Earl Rogers, I presume." The stranger's smile stays plastered on his face as he bobs his head slightly, the ghost of a bow. "I am Brock Rumlow, of clan Soissons. Count Alexander sends his best regards, and hopes that you will grace us with the same hospitality as your village did when the Soissons clan last passed through the North, many years ago."

Steve forces himself to return the smile, making a point not to look at the second man lingering near the shore. "I remember the Soissons clan well. You are welcome here. Both of you."

He looks pointedly over at the second man, who is still standing by the water as the waves lap at his feet. Natasha sighs behind him, but Steve ignores it and gestures towards her.

"These are my seconds in command, Natasha Romanov and Sam Wilson. They will be more than happy to assist you in anything you might need during your stay.”

Rumlow eyes Natasha, leering, but he falters as he meets her cool gaze. “Excellent. I assure you that we won’t be an imposition. We’re here on business after all. West Francia is prospering, and it is of the utmost importance that we establish a camp for trade negotiations here in the North as quickly as possible. It is a great honor that Count Alexander entrusted me with this mission, but as one of his most esteemed confidants, I was more than happy to make the journey.”

Steve sees Natasha’s frosty smile and Sam’s raised eyebrow, but he’s too distracted to join in their distaste for Rumlow’s arrogance. The second man has still not approached the group, nor has he pushed back his hood, and Rumlow seems disinclined to introduce him, choosing instead to comment on the various bits of scenery and boat architecture that he finds unappealing.

During Rumlow’s musings over how the mountains don’t seem to be as large as he was expecting, Steve finds himself unable to hold his tongue any longer. “Are you going to introduce your travelling companion?” he interrupts. Rumlow’s face twists into a disgruntled scowl, but Steve does not care.

“Barnes! Stop dawdling and greet the Earl!” Rumlow’s voice is sharp as he rolls his eyes. “Apologies for my companion. He wasn’t chosen for this mission on account of his manners.”

The second man is walking towards them slowly, almost tentatively. He stops a few feet away from Steve, his posture impeccably straight as he stand unnaturally still, lifting his right hand out from under his cloak to push back his hood.

Long, dark hair frames a pale face, thick, sooty lashes shade steel blue eyes, eyes that bore directly into Steve’s own. Steve inhales sharply as he drinks in the details of the face that are instantly recognizable, though he hasn’t seen it outside of his dreams.

 _Bucky._ Steve manages to bite back the greeting before it leaves his lips, but he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He reaches his arm out, catching himself in time to raise it in greeting rather than pulling Bucky into the embrace that he’s been waiting fifteen years for.

“This is James Barnes,” Rumlow says, “also of clan Soissons. He was here once before, though I’m not sure if you’d remember.”

Steve hasn’t moved his gaze from Bucky’s face. “I remember,” he says softly, his smile widening. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Bucky doesn’t move. His face remains expressionless. Steve’s smile starts to falter as he waits in vain for some sort of reaction, some sign that the laughing boy from Steve’s memories is still there in the stoic man standing before him.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll be happy to show you two to your lodgings. You must be weary from your journey. We have a feast planned for later this evening, to celebrate your arrival and welcome you as our honored guests.”

“Wonderful,” Rumlow says, beaming. “I’m sure whatever accomodations you provide will be amenable, no matter how simple. Count Alexander will be pleased to know of how welcoming you have been to his esteemed representatives.”

Steve’s gaze flickers over to Natasha, whose smile has widened to a frightening degree. He winces slightly and sends a silent prayer to Odin that she will be able to make it through the feast without stabbing Rumlow.

He focuses on Bucky once more, but Bucky pays no attention to the conversation as he surveys his surroundings. Steve takes a hesitant step forward as Bucky turns back to look at him cooly.

There’s a sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach, but he soldiers on. “The head cook remembered some of the preferred dishes from the Soissons’ last visit,” he says in what he hopes passes as a pleasant tone. “We can discuss the possible logistics for setting up your camp, but tonight, we celebrate.”

“Apologies, Earl Rogers, but I think it best that I skip the festivities.”

Steve is taken aback at hearing Bucky’s voice. It’s deeper than he remembers, with gravelly undertones that make Steve’s breath catch in his throat. “You…are you alright?”

Bucky’s face remains blank. “I’ll be up fairly early tomorrow. I would like to start surveying the land for potential camp locations. If you do not have a guide on hand to assist, I’ll be fine to go alone.”

“We’ll have a guide ready for you,” Sam responds. “There are several young warriors in the village who would be honored to accompany you-”

“Actually,” interrupts Steve, “I’ll be guiding you myself.”

Bucky’s eyes widen ever so slightly at this, and Steve grins, pleased to have finally coaxed some sort of reaction from Bucky.

“Earl Rogers, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself,” Rumlow protests. “Barnes will be fine on his own, or with one of your subordinates.”

Steve looks at Rumlow, narrowing his eyes and straightening his shoulders. “It’s no trouble at all, to assist an honored guest. And here in the North, our leaders are not afraid to get our hands dirty.”

Rumlow bristles a bit at this, pressing his lips together. Quickly, Natasha moves to his side and rests an arm on his shoulder.

“Come, I’ll show you to your lodgings. I am sure you will find them more than satisfactory to rest before we feast. I am looking forward to hearing about your journey. You must have _so many_ interesting stories to tell.”

Steve doesn’t need to look over at Sam to know that he’s biting back a chuckle at Natasha’s obvious deflection, but Rumlow doesn’t seem to mind as a cocky grin stretches across his face and he allows her to lead him towards the village.

Bucky has made his way back to the shore and started gathering up the baggage that Rumlow had made no attempt to touch. Before Steve can move to assist, he feels Sam gripping his elbow firmly.

“Steve. What are you doing?”

“I’m being hospitable,” Steve says with a scowl, ignoring Sam’s skeptical expression.

Sam shakes his head slowly. “Steve…” He trails off, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. “Just...be mindful.”

Steve chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Sam doesn’t join in his laughter. “I know you have fond memories of Barnes. But this man isn’t him. He’s a stranger.”

“He’s not a _stranger._ He’s…different. As we all are.” Steve claps Sam on the shoulder. “Go and make sure Natasha does not murder our _honored guest._ I’ll watch after this one.”

Sam still looks worried, but Steve pays him no mind as he makes his way towards Bucky. He finds it curious, the way Bucky is using only his right arm to sling the bags over his shoulders. As Bucky moves to pick up the largest one, Steve reaches down to intercept it, pulling it easily onto his back beside his shield.

Bucky’s gaze flickers over to Steve, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I thought you were smaller.”

Steve laughs, relieved to hear that Bucky does remember him, after all. “I grew up. I suppose we both did. It’s good to see you again, Bucky.”

Bucky stiffens. “Call me Barnes.” He straightens up, and Steve nearly gasps as Bucky’s cloak falls away on his left side, revealing his arm.

Or rather, his lack of an arm.

Steve raises a shaking hand. “Buck…” he whispers, reaching out towards his old friend, though Bucky’s icy glare causes him to freeze.

“Don’t.” The chill in Bucky’s tone nearly causes Steve to shiver. “And as I’ve said. It’s Barnes. No one calls me Bucky anymore.”

“I’m not no one.” Steve says stubbornly, jerking one of the bags from Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll show you to your lodgings. And I’ll be your guide tomorrow.” He turns abruptly and starts heading towards the village.

Bucky lets out a small sigh as he follows Steve, walking a step behind. “You don’t have to come. I’ll start out at sunrise. I still remember the forest. I’ll be fine alone.”

Steve stops suddenly. He turns to face Bucky and locks their eyes together. “I know you’d be fine alone. But you won’t have to be. I’m coming with you.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth turns up slightly. “Stubborn as a mule. Some things never change.”

“That’s right,” Steve replies softly, “some things will always remain the same.”

A faint blush appears across Bucky’s cheekbones, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look away.

Eventually, Steve sighs and starts walking again. Sam is wrong. Bucky is different, but he’s still _Bucky,_ even if he isn’t comfortable showing it.

Yet.

Steve is confident that come sunrise, he will be one step closer to finding his Bucky again

[ ](https://imgur.com/18UMFvU)

 

~  ~ ~  ~ ~ ~  ~

 

Steve had been optimistic that a decent night’s sleep and a good breakfast would improve Bucky’s outlook and allow him to relax a bit more. As he steps out of his dwelling just before sunrise the next morning, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he grows less sure of this assumption.

Bucky is outside of Steve’s doorway, fully dressed and standing at attention. His face once again belies no emotions other than preparedness, as if he is about to head into battle. His right hand- his _only_ hand, that is- rests on the pommel of his sword in a falsely casual manner.

Steve fights back a yawn as he raises his arm in a greeting that Bucky does not return. “Good morning,” he says with a careful smile. “Have you come to escort me to breakfast?”

“I do not eat breakfast.” Bucky’s voice is clipped and cold. “I’m ready to head out and begin the surveying. If you would like to stay behind and eat, you’re welcome to do so.”

“I’ll be fine without breakfast, then,” Steve says mulishly. “Let’s go.” Bucky’s shoulders droop slightly, but other than that, he remains expressionless.

The two men are silent as they make their way through the village and into the forest. Steve smiles and waves at the few people who are up and about at this time of day, but Bucky stares straight ahead, acknowledging no one, keeping his gaze focused on their path.

As they make their way through the forest towards the disputed territory, Steve feels his heart sink. The first rays of sunlight are streaming through the tree branches, the air is cool and crisp, the birds are chirping brightly. Steve remembers so many mornings like this one, back when they were boys. The forest had always been _their_ place. He had hoped that Bucky would open up once they were alone, but a subtle sideways glance at Bucky’s knit eyebrows and squared shoulders dashes those hopes quickly.

“So…” Steve clears his throat. “Were you excited to return to Kattegat?”

“I was honored to be chosen by the Count as an envoy,” Bucky replies formally.

Steve presses his lips together in frustration. “Yes but…were you… how does it feel to be back?” _With me,_ Steve wants to add, though he doesn’t dare.

“It feels...cooler. The weather is cooler.” Bucky speeds up his pace ever so slightly, pulling ahead of Steve on the path.

Steve is scowling now. Bucky is being ridiculous. He’s half convinced that this is all a joke, that any minute now, Bucky will turn around and break into a mad grin, snickering as he reaches out to wrap his arm around Steve, pulling him closer…

Instead, Bucky comes to an abrupt halt on the path, surveying the forest. “This is where it begins. The disputed territory.”

It is a statement rather than a question, but Steve nods as he moves to stand next to Bucky. “Yes. This is where it begins. I was thinking we could walk to the East a few miles. There’s a thinned section of forest there, and that would be-”

“Unacceptable.” Bucky shakes his head ever so slightly. “The Soissons will not want to be so far from the river.”

“But there _is_ a river there,” Steve says, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “Don’t you remember? You tried to toss our lunch satchel across it once, so it wouldn’t get wet, but it landed in the water, and-”

“It’s not a good enough river,” Bucky interrupts smoothly, ignoring Steve’s comments. “It’s not the _best_ river. The Soissons will want to be near the West river. By the cave of Eir.”

Steve blanches a bit at this. “The cave of Eir? That’s not in the disputed territory. That cave is under Kattegat’s control. It’s a sacred place. A healing place.”

Bucky turns towards Steve, his eyes shining like cool pieces of silver. “There are no sacred places. You should know that, Earl Rogers.”

Steve’s voice catches in his throat. Bucky looks so resigned, so…empty.

_I know you have fond memories of Barnes. But this man isn’t him. He’s a stranger._

Steve feels his stomach twist as he considers the possibility that Sam may have been right.

Bucky says nothing as he heads West. Steve follows, feeling helpless in a way that he hasn’t experienced since he was young and frail.

In less than an hour, they arrive at the entrance to the cave of Eir, next to the roaring shores of the main river. Bucky drops his satchel to the ground in one fluid movement and walks to the water’s edge to kneel down. He dips his hand in the water and splashes it over his face before. His damp hand runs through his hair as he looks around the small clearing with wide eyes.

The small smile playing at the corners of Bucky’s mouth as he takes in his surroundings causes Steve’s chest to tighten. Bucky is still quite clearly on the alert, but there’s a flicker of life in his movements, a shadow of the carefree boy he once was. Faint though it may be, it is enough to bolster Steve’s confidence.

Bucky rises to his feet gracefully and heads over to his satchel. He kneels down to open it. Steve watches as Bucky struggles to undo one of the fastenings with his lone hand. Steve hurries over to kneel beside Bucky, reaching out towards the satchel.

“Here, let me,” he says, but Bucky jerks the satchel away.

“I can do it,” he snaps.

Steve lets out a sigh of frustration. “I know you can, but just let me help-”

“You aren’t _helping.”_ Bucky’s icy tone slices through Steve sharply. “I can do things on my own. I _have_ to.” He turns his back to Steve and continues fiddling with the fastening.

“You don’t _have_ to!” Steve says raising his voice to just a fraction below a shout. “Bucky, I was only trying to-”

“Stop.” Bucky stands abruptly, turning on his heel to glower at Steve. “You are _not_ helping. And you have _no idea_ about the things I’ve had to do.”

Bucky’s blank expression is finally crumbling, giving way to a thunderous glare that could cut through diamond, but rather than being afraid, Steve feels a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He takes one step towards Bucky, then another, not letting his gaze break away from Bucky’s face.

“It’s been a long time since we last met. We’ve both had to make tough choices.” He takes another step closer, close enough that he could touch Bucky’s face, if he chose. “We’ve both changed, Buck, but that doesn’t mean we’ve lost everything we had.”

“We didn’t have anything,” Bucky retorts, but his voice is soft, and his lower lip is trembling. “A few weeks at most, that’s how long I was here, but it has been years since that summer. I barely remember any of it.”

Steve lets out a growl of frustration. “Well, what _do_ you remember?”

Bucky blinks, looking away. “I… I don’t…”

Before Steve knows what he’s doing, he has Bucky pressed up against the trunk of a tree, pinning those broad shoulders to the rough bark. “Do you remember _this?”_

Steve moves forward to catch Bucky’s mouth with his own and press their lips together in a searing kiss. Bucky inhales sharply, and Steve captures his lower lip between his teeth. He sucks on it as Bucky lets out a shuddering moan.

Suddenly Bucky thrusts his hand outward, shoving hard against Steve’s chest. Steve gasps as some of the air is knocked from his lungs, but Bucky smacks against his chest again, harder still this time.

“You…you can’t…” Bucky is breathing heavily, his face screwed up in anger. Steve’s eyes widen, but before he can say or do anything, Bucky reaches up to grab the nape of his neck and pull him into another kiss as they fall back against the tree.

Steve reaches one hand up and threads it through Bucky’s hair. He yanks Bucky’s head to one side so that he can trace a trail of hot, wet kisses from underneath his ear, down the pale, slender column of his neck. He pauses to suck at the angular collar bone that’s peeking out from Bucky’s shirt. Steve pushes forward and presses his hips against Bucky’s, slotted together so that there is not a hair's breadth of space between their bodies.

Bucky lets out another moan as he grabs Steve’s ass and pulls him even closer. He buries his face against Steve’s shoulder and bites into the fabric, hard enough that Steve knows he’ll have a bruise tomorrow. Steve growls as he grinds his hips against Bucky He grows heady at the feel of Bucky’s impossibly hard dick pressed against his own. He tightens his grip in Bucky’s hair as he fumbles with the laces on his trousers. His own dick is freed in a matter of seconds before he makes quick work of Bucky’s trousers as well.

Steve lets out a choked sob as he glances down at Bucky’s dick, thick and heavy against his flat stomach, glistening with precome. Steve gives his palm a good, long lick and reaches between them to wrap his fingers around Bucky's dick He squeezes it gently as he runs his thumb across the head, and his heartbeat speeds up as Bucky shoves his face deeper into the crook of Steve's neck with a whimper that sends a shiver down Steve's spine.

As he braces himself against the tree with his free hand, Steve presses their dicks together and uses his other hand to pump them furiously He revels in the slickness from the spit and precome, the heat of Bucky's breath against his neck, the scent of sweat and soap mingling together as he buries his face in Bucky's hair. Gods, he hasn't done something like this in so long, and it's never felt this good before. How could it? It's never been with _Bucky_ before, _his_ Bucky, the _real_ one, no longer just a memory.

Steve can feel himself edging closer and closer to his orgasm so he picks up his pace He hitches his breath as Bucky comes suddenly, all over Steve's hand and dick as he leans trembling against Steve's shoulder, his hand still curled around Steve's ass in a bruisingly tight grip.

"I... _Steve_..."

Bucky's whispered words are muffled against Steve's shoulder, but there's a softness to them, a hint of vulnerability. Those words, paired with the feeling of Bucky's come sliding up and down his dick, are enough to push Steve over the edge. He bites back a cry as he comes, with his fingers tangled in Bucky's hair as the pleasure rocks through his body.

They stand there silently for a moment, breathing heavily as they lean against the tree trunk, wrapped together in a sticky embrace. Steve is loathe to let go, nervous that once they pull apart, he'll be forced to face Bucky's closed-off mask once more.

But as Steve starts to move his hand away, Bucky quickly reaches out to grab Steve's wrist and pull Steve's hand up to his face. He licks his tongue along one finger before sucking it into his mouth hotly, his unblinking eyes locked on Steve's face.

Steve's starting to feel dizzy, and hard all over again, as he watches Bucky suck his fingers clean. When Bucky pulls back, he cups his free hand against Steve’s cheek, and for a moment their foreheads rest together.

“We…we should go back,” Steve says, reluctantly as his stomach twists with worry at the thought of heading back to the village, back to their roles as Earl and envoy. Steve is unsure as to whether or not he is ready to separate from Bucky, now that he’s finally experienced being this close to him.

Bucky smiles shakily, and Steve’s heart leaps to his throat. It’s a ghost of the smile that he’s imagined so many times in his head, sunny with a hint of mischief. “We _should_ go back,” Bucky agrees, “but…maybe not yet.”

Steve doesn’t respond. Instead, he kisses Bucky gently once more, slow and sweet. He knows this is only temporary, seeing Bucky with his guard down, but there’s no rush. Steve has waited fifteen years for this, he can wait a bit longer. This time, he vows, he won’t let Bucky leave him without knowing exactly how much Steve needs him. This time, things will be different.

 

~  ~ ~  ~ ~ ~  ~

 

Steve is grinning as he sits down across from Natasha and Sam at the dining table in the Great Hall. A servant sets a steaming bowl of porridge in front of him immediately, and Steve thanks her cheerfully.

“Mmm,” he says after his first bite. “Have you noticed how excellent the porridge has been lately? The cooks have truly outdone themselves, don’t you agree?”

Natasha and Sam remain silent. Steve looks up at them, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. Sam is staring at him with a small frown, and Natasha is shaking her head slightly.

“What is the matter with you two? It’s barely past sunrise. What could possibly be worrying you this early in the day?”

Natasha snorts derisively as she pokes at her porridge with a spoon. Sam looks around the Great Hall for a moment before he leans forward slightly.

“Steve,” he says in a low voice, “you do realize that this is the first time in three weeks that you’ve joined us for breakfast.”

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been skipping breakfast. Bu… Barnes and I have been quite busy with the surveying. Getting an early start, you know.”

Natasha continues to poke at her porridge. Sam sighs heavily as his fingers drum against the table.

“Yes, we are well aware of how… busy you’ve been. _We_ are the ones left to entertain Rumlow. Or rather, listen to his endless bragging and complaints. It’s evident that _you’ve_ been enjoying our guests, but the rest of us are having a vastly different experience.”

Steve tries not to blush, but he can feel the heat spread across his cheeks. “I haven’t… I’m just being hospitable. There’s quite a lot of land to cover, you know.”

“Clearly,” Sam says dryly. Steve’s blush deepens at the knowing look in Sam’s eyes. He tries not to think about how silky Bucky’s hair feels between his fingers, how soft Bucky’s sighs are against Steve’s shoulder, how tight Bucky’s thighs are when Steve thrusts between them.

“I…surely Rumlow can’t be that bad,” Steve protests. “He seems to be enjoying himself when I see him during the evening meals.”

“Do you see him during the evening meals?” Sam asks. “You seem to be…preoccupied most evenings.”

Steve doesn’t say anything as he looks down into his porridge bowl and shoves an unnecessarily large bite into his mouth. He should have realized that Sam and Natasha would notice how frequently his gaze followed Bucky’s every movement, despite his attempts to appear unruffled.

When they are in the village, around other people, Bucky dons his stoic mask and keeps his distance from Steve, the same way he did during their first meeting. _You must understand,_ he had whispered to Steve, _Rumlow can’t know that I…I’m not supposed to fraternize. Not like this. Not with you, not with anyone._

Steve hadn’t pressed Bucky for further elaboration. It was clear that Bucky had no interest in discussing it. And who was Steve to complain? He might have to keep his distance from Bucky when people were around, but when it is just the two of them, alone in their woods, Steve is finally allowed to wrap his arms around Bucky, give him the kisses and caresses that he’s dreamt about since they were boys. If Bucky needs time before he is ready for more, Steve will wait.

“Steve,” Sam says insistently, “I understand that you are…excited to be reunited with an old friend. But you must start paying closer attention. There’s something odd about Rumlow. This envoy visitation…something is not right. The Soissons aren’t known for being so… accommodating.”

“Yes,” Steve says slowly, “we’ve always known that the Franks are not our allies, necessarily. There have been skirmishes, for certain, but…”

“Not skirmishes,” Sam interjects. “Worse than that. Rumlow attempts to keep up a friendly facade, but he lets things slip. The Soissons are ruthless. Ever since Count Alexander took over, the Franks have been the source of merciless bloodshed. Rape. Torture. For the fun of it, not just for tactical purposes. The things that they’ve done…the things that Rumlow has mentioned without so much as a flinch…” Sam shudders distastefully.

Steve frowns as he puts down his spoon. “Surely you are overreacting,” he says. “None of us have clean hands. That is the life of a warrior. We’ve all done things that we’re not proud of.”

“But he _is_ proud,” Sam says with a note of frustration in his voice. “He shows no signs of shame or remorse when he mentions his atrocities. The way he just glossed over what they did to that orphanage…” Sam grimaces painfully.

Steve feels something turn in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t…just because Rumlow is so depraved doesn’t mean that all of the Soissons are the same way.”

“If you’re talking about Barnes,” Natasha says softly, “you’re wrong. I’ve been gathering intel. There have been...disturbing reports about Barnes’ role in the Soissons’ rise to power.”

Steve bristles at this. “ _You’re_ wrong,” he says sharply. “Barnes isn’t that sort.”

“Maybe he _wasn’t_ that sort, when you knew him last,” Natasha says, “but he is now. My sources claim that Barnes is so well known on the continent that people slit their own throats when they get word that he’s coming. They’d rather die by their own hand than face him.”

Steve feels sick as he shoves his porridge bowl away. “This is…you must have misunderstood.”

Natasha says nothing as she gives Steve a pitying look. Steve sighs dejectedly. Even he is not foolish enough to think that Natasha’s report is in error.

“Fine. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Barnes has a reputation. But that’s not _him,_ not really. He must have been forced into it. If this Count Alexander is as bad as you say, _he_ must be the driving force behind the violence.”

“Steve,” Sam says in a voice heavy with concern, “you aren’t thinking objectively. You’re not thinking like an Earl. You’ve got people depending on you to keep a clear head. You’ve got to _listen_ to us.”

“Sam is right,” Natasha agrees, “something is off kilter about these visitors. We need to be more on our guard.” She reaches out to rest her hand over Steve’s, giving it a firm squeeze. “I know you want to believe that you’ve broken through that cold facade that Barnes wears, and maybe you _do_ see a different side to him, when you two are…alone. But that doesn’t mean that what you see is any more real than what we see. He could be misleading you in an attempt to gain your trust, and take advantage.”

Steve pushes his chair back from the table roughly. He stands up and meets Natasha’s gaze unwaveringly. “He doesn’t need to _attempt_ to gain my trust. He’s _always_ had it. And he’s worthy of it. I appreciate your concern, and agree that it is prudent to keep a closer eye on Rumlow. But as for Barnes, your concerns are unfounded.”

Steve turns sharply on his heel and heads out of the Great Hall as he fights to keep the scowl off his face. He doesn’t like disagreeing with Sam and Natasha. He respects their opinions, and values their input. But they don’t know Bucky like Steve does. They don’t see the way he vacillates back and forth between hesitance and enthusiasm. They don’t feel the way his hand trembles as it brushes against Steve’s face. They don’t hear the way his breath shudders when it’s time to head back to the village.

Steve perks up immediately when he sees Bucky waiting by their usual path, half hidden in the shade of the trees. He frowns, however, when he notices that Rumlow is with Bucky, eyes narrowed as he mutters to Bucky in a low voice. He grips Bucky’s maimed shoulder with his fingers curled too tightly into the flesh.

As Steve approaches the two men, he notices that Bucky’s face is not set into its usual blank expression. There is a tiny furrow in his forehead, and his lips are pressed together tightly as he shakes his head as something Rumlow is saying.

Steve’s blood starts to boil as he sees Rumlow sneer at Bucky, moving his hand upward so that his fingers dig into the base of Bucky’s neck. Bucky doesn’t flinch, but he makes no move to get away, either. Steve struggles to keep his anger under control as he closes in on them. He claps one hand heavily on Rumlow’s shoulder.

“Am I interrupting something?” Steve’s voice is cold and low, but Rumlow doesn’t seem concerned as he looks over at Steve without removing his hand from Bucky’s neck.

“Not at all, Earl Rogers,” he says smoothly. “We were just discussing some matters pertaining to home, but that’s all sorted now. Barnes is free to go.” Rumlow grins as he finally removes his hand from Bucky and heads off towards the Great Hall without a backwards glance.

Steve’s hands are clenched into fists, but before he can call after Rumlow, he finds himself being pulled by his wrist down the path, into the forest. Steve is too taken aback to say a word until Bucky skids to a halt and drops his wrist.

“Why would you do that?” Bucky snaps.

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “Bucky, he was _grabbing_ your _neck._ Why would he…what were you talking about?”

Bucky steps backwards and runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing that concerns you,” he says cooly.

“It was making you upset. Of course that concerns me,” Steve insists as he takes a step closer.

“I was not upset,” Bucky protests, “I was…I’m fine. You cannot…just let Rumlow be, alright? He can’t hurt me. But he can hurt you, if he suspects that you and I…” Bucky trails off. He looks down at the ground and chewing on his lower lip.

Steve feels his anger cooling as he moves closer to Bucky again. He rests his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and rubs them gently. “Buck…you can tell me if something is bothering you. Clearly something is going on. I can help.”

Bucky shakes his head, not meeting Steve’s gaze. “You cannot help. There’s nothing to be done.

“Bucky, I can-”

“You _can’t.”_ Bucky’s voice is harsh as he looks up at Steve suddenly, his steely eyes flashing icily. “You cannot do anything. You do not _need_ to do anything. I can look out for myself.”

“Bucky,” Steve pleads, but Bucky steps backwards out of Steve’s grasp.

“This has gone far enough,” Bucky says. He closes his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I should never have let this happen. None of this should have happened.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says forcefully. “Everything between us…don’t say it shouldn’t have happened. I’ve been dreaming of you for fifteen years, and I’ve finally got you now. Don’t tell me I can’t have you, not when I know you want me, too.”

Bucky shakes his head, holding his hand up to Steve in a gesture of silence. “It does not matter what I want,” he says. “Nothing I want has mattered since I lost my arm and my freedom in one fell swoop. Not that I deserve anything different.”

Steve hesitates before clearing his throat. “Bucky…I know you’ve done some…questionable things. I know you’ve done things you’re not proud of. But from what I hear of your Count, you didn’t have a choice. You cannot blame yourself for that.”

Bucky chuckles without mirth. “There’s always a choice, Steve. Death is always an option. I am a coward. The Soissons see me as fearless because of how many I have killed. They do not see that a truly brave man would have let himself die rather than take the lives of so many innocents.”

“That’s not how it works.” Steve’s voice is nearly a whisper. “Every warrior has killed innocents. Bucky, _you_ were innocent, too. You were doing what you had to do, to survive. But you don’t have to do that anymore. You’ve got me. You can have something different now.”

“No.” The finality in that word stabs through Steve’s heart like an icicle. Bucky says nothing further as he continues down the path. Steve hurries to catch up, but Bucky turns on him quickly. He whips out his knife and bringing it up to Steve’s neck in one fluid movement.

Bucky’s eyes are clear and unblinking as they bore into Steve’s. “Do not follow me. And do not think that I will hesitate to hurt you if you do.”

Without warning, Bucky shoves the heel of his hand sharply into Steve’s chest Steve is left doubling over and gasping for air as the wind is knocked from his lungs and tears of pain spring to his eyes.

When he manages to get his breathing under control once more, Bucky is gone, and the forest is silent once more.

 

~  ~ ~  ~ ~ ~  ~

 

“Steve. It is time to go.”

Steve stares out over the horizon as the sun sets by the water’s edge. He ignores Sam’s comment as he stubbornly continues to scan the water.

"Steve." Sam rests his hand on Steve's shoulder gently. "He is not coming back."

Steve frowns. "You do not know that."

"I do," says Sam, "and so do you."

Steve sighs as his shoulders slump.  "I'm sorry. I know I haven't...I've been..."

Sam squeezes Steve's shoulder comfortingly. "Come on. Let's go back to the village. Natasha has been planning the next hunt. And spicing some mulled mead, no doubt."

Steve manages a small smile. "Alright. Let's go." He and Sam walk back to the village in silence.

It has been four days since Bucky left him alone in the forest. Steve had searched for hours once he had managed to start breathing properly, but there had been no sign of him. Steve had sent Natasha after Bucky as well, but by the end of the day, Natasha had come up with nothing.

If Natasha is unable to find someone, then they are not able be found, period. The fact that Steve has been holding out hope only proves that he's not thinking clearly.

Rumlow had not seemed surprised when he had been informed of Bucky's disappearance. "Typical Barnes," he had said derisively. "He is an outstanding warrior, but he's always been a bit of an odd duck. Lost his arm, you know, when the Count... er, during the Count's benevolent rise to power. Should have made him an invalid, but he always was a tough bastard. He proved his worth, but..."

Rumlow had shrugged carelessly. "Regardless...we were scheduled to move north soon. Barnes must have gone on ahead. I should probably join him. Your hospitality has been greatly appreciated, but I'll not infringe upon it any longer."

Natasha and Sam had seemed heartened by this news, but Steve had remained skeptical. It didn’t make any sense. Neither Rumlow nor Bucky had indicated that they would be moving on anytime soon. And Steve would have known if Bucky had been planning to leave. He would have picked up on something.

Then again, Bucky had clearly kept secrets. A small part of Steve wonders if Sam and Natasha have been right all along. If Bucky had been pretending, if it had all been an act...

Steve pushes these thoughts from his mind as they enter the village and make their way towards the bonfire where Natasha waits for them with a large pitcher of mead.

Sam smiles as he takes a seat and accepts a mug. Steve accepts his mug wordlessly as he sits down heavily on the opposite side of the fire.

Natasha and Sam share a knowing glance. "Steve," Natasha says slowly, "this is for the best. You have been distracted for too long. We know what Barnes meant to you, but whatever it is that you had, or thought you had...it wasn't real. Or if it was.. it's over. He is gone. You can't keep looking to the past. You have to look forward. Your people need you."

Steve shrugs as he savors a sip of his mead. "You may be right. But still, I cannot stop thinking...you were the ones who said something seemed off. And now that Rumlow is gone, you are willing to put your concerns aside?"

"I'm not saying that Rumlow was not up to something," Natasha says smoothly, "but clearly whatever caused Barnes to flee got Rumlow off our backs as well. For now. I will keep a closer eye on the Franks, of course, but we seem to have been granted a reprieve."

"It's for the best," Sam agrees. "We have other matters to attend to."

Steve takes another sip of mead but offers no reply. His thoughts are a muddled mess. Natasha is correct that _something_ wasn't right, but Steve doesn't think that Bucky played him false. Bucky had been reticent, certainly, but the way he's been so eager to respond to Steve's affections...that had been real. Steve is sure of it.

Bucky had leaned into every touch as though it was something he'd never experienced. Steve had gotten the impression that Bucky had not allowed himself to be held and treasured by another person in quite some time, if ever. Steve had felt Bucky starting to relax, and found himself able to coax genuine grins from Bucky's stoic expression. Once, when Steve had slipped on a rock and fallen sidelong into a creek, he'd even seen Bucky burst into peals of carefree laughter. Bucky had looked beautiful, with his hair loose around his face and the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

That was real. Steve _knows_ it was real.

Steve is startled from his thoughts as Natasha rises from her seat in a flash of movement. She pulls out a knife in each hand and crouches into a defensive stance. Sam is quick to join her, as he places his hand on the pommel of his sword. Steve reaches for his shield as he jumps up and turns towards Natasha.

Steve's eyes widen as he sees what Natasha is reacting to. Bucky stands in the shadows, the light from the bonfire flickering across his face. His hair is pulled back, his cloak is missing, and he makes no move to brandish his weapons. He holds up his one hand cautiously, though he doesn't make any attempt to come closer.

"Steve." Bucky's eyes are wide, his brows knit together in concern. "We need to talk."

"No one is stopping you from talking," Natasha says coolly.

Bucky doesn't respond. His gaze is fixed on Steve's face as he takes one tentative step forward. "Steve...I am...I have come alone. Please."

"Whatever you have come to say," Sam says in a low tone laced with a hint of warning, "you can say in front of all of us."

"Enough." Steve lowers his shield, though his eyes don't leave Bucky's face for one second. "I... you just _left_..."

Bucky flinches slightly. It’s a small movement, but it’s enough to tweak at Steve’s heartstrings. He drops his shield to the ground with a heavy thud. He walks swiftly over to Bucky, resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders firmly. Bucky’s eyes drop down to the ground, but Steve moves one hand to brush against Bucky’s chin and tilt it gently upwards.

“It does not matter. You’re here now. You came back.”

Bucky blinks, wets his lips and nods as he looks back at Steve intently. “I did. I was not supposed to…they wanted...but I couldn’t…”

Steve grins, feeling the warmth well up in his chest as he cups Bucky’s cheek. Bucky came back. He came back for _Steve_. ”You don’t have to do anything. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Natasha says from behind them. “I would say that he _does_ have to tell us exactly what is going on, and fast. My mind reading skills seem to be off today, and I assume that you don’t want me using my…usual tactics for coaxing information out of people.”

Steve turns sharply on his heel to face Natasha, expecting to see her prepared for a fight. Instead, she stands with one hand on her hip and a small smirk on her face. Steve feels his face heat up as Natasha raises one eyebrow playfully.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Sam suggests. “Let’s hear what Barnes has to say.”

Sam and Natasha sit next to each other, while Bucky and Steve settle in across from them. Steve desperately wants to put his arm around Bucky’s hunched shoulders and hold him close, but he refrains, contenting himself with their upper arms pressed against each other.

After a few moments of silence, Natasha clears her throat. “This bonfire will only be burning for another six hours or so. If you would be so kind as to start talking before it dies out, Barnes, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Bucky glances over at Steve for a moment before looking back down at his lap. “I…after I left, I went north. To our next stop. I was early, but I had to find out if Count Alexander had done what Rumlow had told me he would.”

“And what was that, exactly?” Sam asks.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Our next stop was not a trading expedition. It was a tactical mission. We did not come here to Kattegat as envoys. We came as scouts. In preparation for an invasion.”

Steve wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “Invasion? What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said.” Bucky doesn’t look at Steve. “Count Alexander made a deal with the Northerners. The Soissons would assist in usurping Kattegat in exchange for a sizeable amount of gold. The Count will later double cross them, no doubt. He has dreams of a larger empire.”

Bucky looks over at Steve with wide, pleading eyes. “I did not know. You have to believe me.”

Steve’s stomach sinks as he mulls over Bucky’s words. “You…you didn’t know any of it?”

Bucky hesitates. Natasha lets out a short laugh. “Of course he knew _some_ of it, Steve. He had to.” She narrows her eyes at Bucky. “If you bother denying it, you will regret it.”

“I…I did suspect that we were here for…less than friendly reasons,” Bucky confesses. “I assumed that the scouting intel would be used for something other than trading. But I was unaware of the details. I am not…the Soissons do not bother informing me of the tactical details for their plans. That is not my concern. I am a warrior. A weapon. I have to follow orders exactly as they are given. The details are immaterial.”

Steve’s hands tighten into fists against his thighs. Hearing Bucky talk about himself like this is nearly as painful as hearing the invasion plans.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice is low and imploring. “I should have told you. I know this. But I…the day I left was the first time Rumlow confirmed my suspicions. We were meant to stay another week or two here before moving on, but…I needed more information. I did not want to wait. So I left early.”

Bucky’s shoulders hunch up protectively around his ears. “Rumlow did not like that. Me leaving so abruptly.”

“He did seem terribly irritated at having to carry all the baggage himself,” Sam says dryly.

Bucky chuckles without humor. “That was part of it, I’m sure. But mostly it was…I was supposed to wait. I’m not supposed to make choices. I’m supposed to follow orders. They have always ensured that it be in my best interests to be…obedient.”

Steve feels his blood rising as he digs his nails into his palms. He doesn’t know the details of how the Soissons keep Bucky _obedient,_ though he gets the sense from Bucky’s reactions that it’s better if he stays in the dark, lest he find himself having to personally strangle every single Soisson in retaliation.

“What does it mean for us, having you here?” Natasha’s voice is even, but Steve notices her fingertips running along the handle of her favorite knife, a telltale nervous tick. “Will Rumlow come looking for you? Or does he already know you are here? Exactly how _obedient_ are you being at this very moment?”

“Natasha!” Steve snaps sharply, “are you implying that he came to us on Rumlow’s orders?”

Natasha shrugs. “I’m implying nothing.”

“I am,” says Sam. “Barnes is being evasive. There has to be a reason.”

“The reason is that he’s sc-- overwhelmed!” Steve snarls. He had been about to say _scared,_ but managed to stop himself just in time. “He’s risking his life to be here. There’s no reason to doubt him.”

“Yes there is,” Bucky says softly. “I have spent nearly fifteen years doing terrible things. I have obeyed the Soissons through everything they’ve done to me. Your friends’ concerns are valid. There is plenty of reason to doubt my motives.”

“What _are_ your motives, exactly?” asks Natasha. “What do you want?”

Bucky meets her gaze unwaveringly. “I know what their plan is. Where they will target, how they will attack, and when. I am here to help you defend your village. We can stop them before they make any critical moves.”

Sam tilts his head as he eyes Bucky carefully. “Why should we trust you? As you said, you’ve been loyal to the Soissons for many years. Why switch sides now? It is more likely that this is all part of the Soissons’ plan. You could be using Steve’s affection for you as a way to lull us into a false sense of security.”

Steve bites back a humiliated groan at Sam’s comment, but his embarrassment abates somewhat when he notices that Bucky looks just as sheepish.

“I understand why you would think that,” Bucky says. “I have not been very forthcoming with my…er...“ A rosy blush appears on Bucky’s cheeks. “I suppose there’s no way for me to prove where my loyalties lie. But the truth is…the truth is that I am not switching sides. Not really. We may have been separated for a long time, but although it has been many years, my heart is with Steve. It always has been.”

Steve’s own heart leaps to his throat as Bucky places his hand over Steve’s fist. He threads their fingers together and squeezes Steve’s hand tightly. Steve beams as he looks over at Sam and Natasha pointedly.

“I understand your concerns,” Steve says, “but you have to trust me. The only reason the three of us have made is as far as we have is because we trust each other implicitly at the appropriate times.”

Sam and Natasha stare at each other as they exchange raised eyebrows and slight head nods in some sort of silent conversation that Steve cannot decipher. Eventually, Natasha removes her hand from her knife handle, and Sam lets out a loud sigh.

“Alright. I suppose we trust you, which means we are trusting Barnes as well.” Sam tries to keep his face blank, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose we should formulate a plan. Barnes, why don’t you fill us in on what we should expect from the Soissons?”

“Let me refresh our drinks first,” Natasha says as she reaches for the pitcher of mead. “And before things get too tactical, we have more pressing matters to discuss.” She points one finger at Bucky and narrows her eyes. “When you were here as a boy, all those years ago…what is the most embarrassing story you have about Steve from that time?”

Bucky grins mischievously. “Must I choose only one? That may be impossible.”

Steve groans and rests his right hand against his forehead, though his left hand is still clasped tightly with Bucky’s. Despite everything that’s happened today, Steve can’t help but bask in the knowledge that Bucky is here, with Steve, by his own choice.

No matter what obstacles they must face, Bucky and Steve will meet them, together, the way they were always meant to be.

 

~  ~ ~  ~ ~ ~  ~

 

Steve’s eyelids flutter as he drifts back into consciousness. As the sleep clears from his mind, he struggles to remember where he is. He is fairly sure he is no longer on the battlefield, since he’s reclining on a soft mattress rather than the hard ground of the forest.

_Steve is crouched behind a boulder, waiting. He can see Sam hidden a few meters to his left, with Bucky slightly ahead. He can’t see Natasha, but knows that she is in position somewhere above them in the trees. The dull pounding of feet moving stealthily across the underbrush grows louder. The enemy is approaching._

Steve opens his eyes just slightly. Through the thin slits of his eyelids, he can see the wooden slats of a peaked roof and the top of an elaborate tapestry featuring Eir, the goddess of healing. He must be in the recovery lodge then, rather than Valhalla. He supposes this is good news.

_The Soisson warrior swings his axe towards Steve, but it misses and hits Steve’s shield with a heavy thud. A quick thrust of Steve’s spear has the Soisson drop to the ground, writhing in pain. Before Steve can end his suffering, one of Natasha’s knives whips through the air and finishes the job for him, though Natasha herself is nowhere to be seen._

_His breath catches as he sees Bucky charge towards a large group of Soissons with his sword raised. Steve instinctively rushes over to him for backup, but before he’s taken two steps, six Soissons lie in pieces and Bucky’s sword shines crimson._

The noise of the battle is gone, and all Steve can hear now is the soft cracking of a fire. He knows he should get up and take survey of his surroundings, but the blanket wrapped snugly around him is warm and comforting, so he decides to rest a few more moments.

_Sam is locked in combat with a particularly aggressive warrior. Their weapons clash together like thunder. Steve rushes to his side and redirects the Soisson’s attention long enough for Sam to take him down. Steve claps Sam on the shoulder, but is distracted when he sees an injured warrior raise himself up from the ground behind Bucky and use a final burst of strength to hurl his spear towards Bucky’s back at an intense speed._

_Without thinking, Steve flings his shield towards them. It catches the spear a hairsbreadth of a second before it meets its target. Bucky turns to meet Steve’s gaze, his eyes aflame like molten silver. Steve feels a rush of heat spread through his body before a searing pain spreads across his torso as something collides against his side with a sickening crack. Steve gasps as the breath leaves his body in one harsh exhale. The last thing Steve sees as he loses consciousness is Bucky’s blood-splattered face contorted into a mask of murderous rage._

“Bucky!” Steve’s eyes fly open as he sits up swiftly. He winces as a dull pain shoots through his ribs.

“Who in Valhalla is Bucky?”

Steve looks quickly to his right. Natasha sits on a stool by his bedside, one eyebrow raised in amusement. Steve blushes as he ducks his head.

“I…Barnes. Is he alright? Is he hurt?”

“Perhaps you should be worried about your own injuries,” Natasha says with a nod towards Steve’s ribs, which are patterned with a sunset of faded bruises.

“I’m fine,” Steve answers impatiently. “Where is Barnes?”

“Or perhaps you’d like to know how we fared in the battle, since you slept through the majority of it?”

“Natasha!” Steve growls in frustration. “Where _is_ he? Is he well?”

“He will be, now that you are finally awake,” Natasha says with a smirk.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief and runs a hand over his face. Bucky is safe. So is Natasha, but that’s to be expected, and if Natasha is safe, then so is Sam. “Where is he? What happened?”

“We won,” Natasha says simply. “Once you went down…it was as if Barnes harnessed the power of Odin himself. I’ve never seen anyone fight as passionately as he did. He lead the charge against the Soissons, rallied the troops. He fought bravely.”

Steve is taken aback. Coming from Natasha, this is exceedingly generous praise. “So it’s over?”

“For now,” Natasha says in a level tone. “The Soissons are gone. Their Northern allies are subdued. There will be other battles to come, sooner rather than later, no doubt. But for now, there is peace.”

Steve manages a small smile. “There is always another battle. We must enjoy the peace while we can.” His eyes drift towards the door. “Is…is Barnes still in Kattegat, or is he…”

 _Is he gone?_ Steve is reluctant to voice his question aloud.

“Barnes has not been farther than a meter from your side since the battle,” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes. “He has been hunched over your bedside for the last three days. The only reason he is not here right now is because Sam finally convinced him to bathe. A good thing, too. I suspect the stench was hindering your recovery.”

Steve attempts to scowl at her, but he can’t stop the grin that creeps onto his face. Bucky is still here. He hasn’t left. He has been here the whole time, by Steve’s side. Maybe this time, he won’t ever have to leave.

“Steve…” Natasha pauses. She chews on her lower lip in an uncharacteristic show of hesitance. “Whatever you and Barnes are to each other…there has been talk amongst the villagers, and… your subjects are not so naive as you seem to think.”

Steve stares down at a piece of fuzz on the blanket covering his lap. He does not want to meet Natasha’s gaze. He feels his stomach twist into knots as he awaits her judgement, though a part of him feels oddly calm. He let Bucky go once; he is incapable of doing so a second time, no matter the cost.

“You can say it,” he whispers. “I am ready. I’ll step down as Earl. Perhaps Sam could take over for me. He is a born leader, well respected, and with you by his side, Kattegat would prosper.”

“Any fool could be Earl and Kattegat would prosper, so long as I was here,” Natasha says wryly. “But truly, there is no need for histrionics. Your people love you, Steve. They believe in you. A bit of discretion would not go amiss, of course, but your…personal relationships are of little importance to your leadership skills.”

Steve blinks in surprise as he looks over at Natasha. A small smile teases the corners of Natasha’s mouth, warmer than any expression Steve has ever seen on her face.

Steve struggles to muster up a coherent response, but he’s startled as the door to the lodge slams open and bangs against the wall with a loud clatter.

_“Steve!”_

Steve’s heart leaps as Bucky’s broad frame fills the doorway, with Sam’s head peering over his shoulder. Before Steve can say a word, Bucky sits on the edge of Steve’s bed, and cups his cheek gently yet firmly with his hand.

“You’re awake? Are you alright? Do you…how do you feel?” Bucky’s fingers trace their way up the side of Steve’s face and tangle in his hair for a moment before he wrenches them away. He balls his hand into a fist and presses it against the bedcovers as he glances nervously over at Natasha and Sam.

“Judging from the fact that he is awake and not drooling quite so much, I assume that he will make a full recovery.” Sam’s voice is tired as he stifles a yawn and rubs a red-ringed eye. “The same can be said for you, I suppose, since I finally managed to get a bowl of porridge into you. I was afraid you would waste away to nothing before Steve woke up.”

A small scowl marrs Bucky’s face. “I was not hungry. I was…I…” Bucky trails off. His hunches his shoulders and averts his gaze. His hair falls across his eyes, and Steve desperately wants to brush it away, to grab Bucky by his shoulders, pull him in close…

Sam clears his throat. “Natasha. I need a drink. How about you?”

“I could do with some mead,” Natasha agrees as she rises from her chair in a fluid motion. “We should go. Let these two _recover_ in privacy.”

Steve’s face flushes at the teasing note in Natasha’s voice. He glares at her as she walks over to him and gives his shoulder a pat. Sam gives them each a nod and a knowing smile as he follows Natasha out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Steve.” Bucky lets out a shuddering sigh as he turns towards Steve. He reaches out tentatively to trace his fingers over the bruises on Steve’s ribs. “You were…you were out for so long. Natasha said it was fine, that you’d had worse than this before, but I was…”

Bucky flinches and pulls his hand back. Steve is about to protest, as he has no intention of allowing Bucky to retreat inward again, not now after they’ve come so far. Before he can get a word out, Bucky launches himself at Steve without warning.

Before Steve realizes what’s happening, he’s flat on his back against the pillows with Bucky straddling him. He sucks and nips along Steve’s collarbone and grinds his hips down against Steve’s rapidly hardening dick, though Bucky has propped himself up enough on his lone arm so there’s no pressure on Steve’s injured ribs. Not that Steve would care even if Bucky smashed his fist straight through to Steve’s bones. He thrusts his hips upward as he threads one hand through Bucky’s still-damp locks and runs the other down Bucky’s side to cup his ass and squeeze him closer.

“You cannot leave me,” Bucky whispers. The hot breath against the cool skin of Steve’s neck causes him to shiver. “Not after I’ve only just gotten you back again.”

“No,” Steve agrees, “I cannot. It would be impossible.”

Bucky moves to loom over Steve and lock their eyes together, icy silver piercing into warm sapphire. Bucky chews on his lower lip for a moment, looking pensive. Steve uses the hand that is tangled in Bucky’s hair to pull his face closer and rest their foreheads together.

“To the end, you and I.” Steve’s voice is firm as he tightens his grip in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky smiles, and for a moment Steve is transported back in time to the first time he saw that happy grin on Bucky’s face. “To the end,” he agrees. He presses his lips softly against Steve’s.

Steve moans slightly as Bucky starts working his way down Steve’s body. He traces his lips and tongue and teeth across the swell of Steve’s pecs. He stops for a moment to suck on the left nipple, worrying it into a peak and drawing a sharp inhale from Steve as a cool breath blows across the swollen nub.

Steve tries to sit up, but a firm hand pushes his chest back against the bed as Bucky continues working a trail of bruising kisses down the lines of Steve’s abs. He draws his fingers downward from Steve’s chest as he reaches the edge of the bedcovers draped over Steve’s hips. Steve closes his eyes and presses his head back against the pillow as the bedclothes are swiftly removed. His dick springs free as a hand delicately grips his hip. He can hear Bucky shift his weight back to his knees as the hand on Steve’s hip wanders over to grip his dick tightly.

Steve bites back a cry as the head of his dick is engulfed in a tight, wet heat. He tilts his head to watch as Bucky licks the underside of Steve’s dick slowly before pressing his tongue firmly against the underside of the head. Bucky works his hand up and down the length of the shaft in a fluid motion that has Steve desperate to fuck upwards into Bucky’s waiting mouth. He struggles to keep his hips against the bed as Bucky’s cheeks hollow out around him.

Bucky moans around Steve’s dick then. His eyes flutter closed, and Steve loses control, as he thrusts into Bucky and comes suddenly, feeling himself pulsing hotly in Bucky’s grip. Bucky swallows him down, humming as he sucks every drop. Once Steve’s dick is licked clean, Bucky looks up at Steve with a self satisfied smirk.

Steve sits up just enough to grab Bucky’s hips and pull him forward to straddle his middle, unlacing his trousers and and tugging at his tunic impatiently. Bucky pulls the tunic over his head with one swift movement, flinging it to the floor. Steve pauses for a moment to drink in Bucky’s lean muscles and sharp cut lines. His chest tightens as he scans the scarring on Bucky’s left shoulder. He has seen them before, the few times they’ve slipped into the river for a swim on their scouting expeditions, but he is not sure if he’ll ever be able to fully quell the anger that wells up in him when he thinks about everything Bucky has lost. One day soon, when Steve is fully healed, he will map out every last part of Bucky’s body, the ragged scars and smooth skin alike, slowly and reverently, and make sure that Bucky knows exactly how beautiful he is, how cherished.

Right now, however, Steve has to get his hands on Bucky’s dick before he truly does perish from pure _want._

Steve bats Bucky’s hand away and jerks him off in slow, practiced movements. Bucky falls forward to rest his hand on the pillow next to Steve’s head. He breathes heavily and his smouldering eyes flash at Steve from beneath a curtain of lashes.

“Come for me.” Steve’s voice is hoarse as tightens his grip and picks up his pace. He uses his free hand to side under the loosened waistline of Bucky’s trousers and run his fingers down the curve of Bucky’s ass. “I can see how close you are, just from sucking me. Come for me now. Mark me. Show me I’m yours.”

Bucky’s gasp catches in his throat as he comes, digging his fingernails into the pillow, gritting his teeth, spurting sticky and hot across Steve’s chest. Steve swipes his thumb gently over the sensitive head, bringing it up to suck away the last salty drops as Bucky falls to Steve’s left side exhaling quietly. Steve grabs a clean cloth from the bedside table and wipes his chest clean before scooping Bucky into his arms, pressing his lips to Bucky’s temple. Bucky hums in contentment, nuzzling into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“I…do you think I will be accepted here?” Bucky’s question is muffled against Steve’s skin. “I am not one of you. I am a Frank.”

Steve chuckles, running a soothing hand through Bucky’s hair. “After you won that battle for us? You are no Frank. Not anymore.”

“Neither am I a Northerner,” Bucky says. “I don’t belong here either, not truly.”

“You may not feel like a Northerner yet,” Steve replies, “but you do belong here. You belong with me. You always have.”

“You have become sentimental in your old age.” Bucky snickers, even as he presses closer into Steve’s embrace. “I miss the old days, when you had a big mouth and a sharp tongue.”

“I cannot recall hearing any complains about my mouth or tongue from you lately,” Steve scoffs, though he can’t keep the grin off his face. He lets his hand wander downward, untangling from Bucky’s hair and tracing down the curve of his neck, across his side, over his hip, then lower still. “Of course, if you need further evidence, I will always be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Far be it from me to refuse _that,”_ says Bucky with a smile, “but can we lie here and be sentimental fools for a few minutes more?”

“Whatever you want,” Steve says softly as he brushes a kiss against Bucky’s forehead. “We have all the time in the world now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! We'd love to hear what you think, either here or on Tumblr, [Stucky4Breakfast](https://stucky4breakfast.tumblr.com/) and [ffdom](https://ffdom.tumblr.com/). <3


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